This chapter is for Earthdragon and Nina, my two faithful readers on ffnet. And also for RoB7 if you are reading my dear. You know why. And for jane-ways, congratulations on your wedding my dear.
If you want a soundtrack, I've been listening to the Love theme from Spartacus and Nick Cave, Into your arms and The Ship Song.
Beta: Anarithilien. Thank you
Endórë- Archaic Noldor name for Middle Earth
Alarca- particles (There is no way Fëanor wouldn't have known everything about Physics although a different perception and therefore different technology- not magic rings but technology, uses quantum theory. These Rings of Power are far more interesting than just making you invisible as we know!
Húna mórë, saura huinë! Heca unqualë' – Get you gone to your death! Begone, foul and putrid darkness
Mahalzúk – the Breath.
Chapter 32. Närmófinion
The rushlights in the sconces had now all been lit and spread a warm light over the treasury of Cardolan, gleaming on its ancient armoury, the ivory bones of a horse and its lavish armour, the chests of gems and gold. The light kept at bay the grim darkness of the tunnels that led to and from this burial chamber although a cold draught of air from the westward tunnel kept the flames flickering and dancing. The Man whose name Erestor couldn't remember and who had been wounded by Legolas, stood as if on guard in the mouth of the eastward tunnel. Still clad as the Barrow Wights had dressed him for their own strange purposes, he looked every inch a warrior of Cardolan in plate and chainmail armour that was inscribed with the symbols of Cardolan – the hare, the moon and the strange spirals curling around them. Indeed, with his flaxen hair and the fine bones of his face, he looked like one of the ancient Princes of Cardolan. But perhaps that was the effect of the place, thought Erestor briefly, turning back to the misery before him.
Elrohir had sunk to the floor, hugging Legolas' body to him, bent over him in absolute grief, as if he might pour all his love, his very being into his beloved. 'He has no Song...Where…?' His voice was strangled into incoherence.
It reminded Erestor too much of Maedhros clasping the bloody pulp of Fingon and pressing his lips to the ruined face, for where Morgoth could not break him, Fingon's death tore him into pieces. He had bent over Fingon in the same bereft way as Elrohir now did, with his face buried in Fingon's shoulder as if he might catch the very last lingering scent of him even though it was only his blood.
At last, in the quiet and subdued darkness there was a soft exhalation of breath. It was this for which Erestor had almost been waiting, the last breath of Legolas Thranduillion, and Erestor bowed his head and mutinously cursed the Valar for abandoning Endórë. He blamed them for this, for allowing the creatures of Morgoth Bauglir to flee the War of Wrath and to wreak havoc for all the Ages since.
Elladan spoke, his voice solemn and quiet. 'The Barrow Wight has left Legolas' body. It no longer possesses him.' His hand was on his brother's shoulder and Elrohir rocked forwards, doubled over, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Elladan said very gently to the rest of the Fellowship so that there was no doubt, 'He has stopped breathing now.'
The Fellowship huddled about each other. Pippin turned and pressed his face against Merry's shoulder, who stared, shocked and confused at Elladan. Aragorn was sitting on the edge of the stone plinth at the centre, a sarcophagus Erestor guessed, and his face was buried in his hands. There was blood on the ripped sleeve and front of his tunic where Legolas had wounded him, and blood too on his hands.
No. Not Legolas, Erestor corrected himself violently. It was the Úmaiar that had attacked Aragorn, the King. Elendil's blood. Legolas had been simply an empty weapon to be possessed and used. Legolas himself was not here. Erestor pulled his cloak of thick Warg fur closer about him for the wind coming from the tunnel was cold, whining and moaning, dipping and rising like some lost thing, and Erestor felt like all his hope and love were being leached from his soul.
Nearby, Sam wept quietly, rubbing his hand over his eyes. 'I've killed him. I can't bear it,' he mumbled into the handkerchief that Frodo held anxiously under his nose.
'It was not you that killed him,' Frodo said but to Erestor he sounded faint, as if he were far away and uncomprehending. Gimli stood on the other side of Elrohir from Elladan and had pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and none could see his face.
'It's not fair, ' cried Pippin, his voice muffled in Merry's shoulder. Around him the other hobbits huddled and turned inwards in their grief.
'The rushlights are going out,' said the Man in the Cardolan armour suddenly. Erestor glanced at him and then at the rushlights. Indeed, they were guttering in the draught from the tunnel, from the deep and cold places of the Iaun-Gynd, he thought. At the same time, he remembered the Man's name must be Baranor for Pippin had mentioned it when they had first encountered the Hobbits.
Others too turned to look at the torches' guttering flames that smoked long black streams towards the open mouth of the passages. Erestor frowned; there was something he should do. But his thoughts were blurred. Elladan too looked at him as if puzzled and his hands dropped loosely by his side.
'It is just the draught,' said Aragorn slowly, as if his mouth were moving without his knowledge. 'We should be thinking of Legolas.' His voice broke slightly on the name.
Erestor fumbled for clarity; for a moment he thought that the wind was pulling all thoughts from his head, and they dissipated on the air. But he thought he was being fanciful and dismissed all such nonsense.
Elladan shook himself and after a moment, straightened and spoke in response to Aragorn's broken plea. His voice was very gentle. 'We have to bring him out of this place and …and give him peace.'
'What do you mean?' Pippin asked slowly, raising his tearful face to Elladan. 'Take him home to the Greenwood?' He lifted his chin defiantly. 'Then I will accompany him home. It is the least thing that I can do.' There was a soft murmur of agreement.
Elladan hesitated, and then he glanced at Erestor for they both knew the horror of the truth.
'No. We cannot take him home.' Erestor spared Elladan the awful duty. Cold, I feel cold, he thought. And heavy. But someone has to tell them. He glanced at Aragorn, who still had not moved. 'When you are in the Wilds, alone on the Road, can you be sure the Barrow Wights will not awaken his body again?' He paused, seeing how Elrohir had stiffened and was listening.
'But we will be away from here,' Sam said. 'He'll be… He'll be safe from them.'
'This is no longer our friend,' Erestor said quietly. He sighed and reached for Elrohir's shoulder, clasping it to give him strength for what was coming. He felt the moment that Elrohir realised for his whole body stiffened and he shrugged Erestor's hand off.
Looking towards his brother, Elladan said, 'We have no choice.'
'You mean burn him?' Elrohir's voice was furious. He threw a terrible look at his brother and his expression was awful. The glitter in his eyes suddenly scared Erestor, not because he feared for himself but because he had seen it before, when Elrohir had stumbled out of the orc dens with the bloody bunch of rags and bone that was Celebrían.
'Burn him?' Frodo was aghast and Sam cried out, 'No! You cannot!'
Elladan rubbed one hand over his forehead as he did when agitated, and turned away, staring into the darkness. 'I do not say this without cause,' he said gently but he was agitated too and the draught from the gaping tunnel lifted his hair slightly as he spoke.
'But what about his spirit, his fëa?' Pippin persisted. 'You said he had been cut by a morgûl blade, Elladan. I heard you! So if that's the case, it's like when the Nazgul hurt him on the Mountain, the Mindolluin. You brought him back.' The Hobbit looked at Elrohir. 'He was all right after that. Why can't you do the same now?'
Elrohir said nothing but glared mutinously at Erestor, his hold on Legolas tightening. Erestor did not try to reason with him. There was none to be had, he knew.
Nevertheless, Elladan knelt before Pippin, looking into the Hobbit's stricken face. 'On the Mindolluin, they did not cut him completely from his body,' he explained patiently, carefully. 'The Nyrdh-fëa, that umbilical cord that tethers the spirit, was not severed.' Elladan paused and looked over to where Elrohir still hugged Legolas' still body. 'That was not their plan.' He sighed. 'But Legolas, his fëa, is not here. Elrohir cannot feel him. Nor can I. His spirit may have fled the Barrow Wights and now is houseless, wandering lost and alone in this gloomy, haunted place. But he cannot return to this body.'
'But why? Why can't we find him and …and put him back?' demanded Pippin. The wind seemed to carry the Hobbit's voice away into the passage and into the darkness of the barrow.
'Once the Nyrdh-fëa is cut,' Elladan said quietly, as if he feared the words themselves might ignite, 'the fëa cannot return.'
Erestor looked away. In truth, to wander houseless and alone was considered the worst fate that could befall an Elf. But he knew it was not. Not here, where the Barrow Wights hunted.
A groan came from Elrohir that seemed to almost come from the depths of the earth so elemental it was. Elrohir lifted his head. A dreadful haunted look was in his eyes and Erestor saw that he too had realised what might have befallen Legolas' fëa; that he had been hunted down by the Úmaiar and devoured. Erestor was suddenly very afraid, he could well believe that Elrohir might well seek the same death from the Úmaiar, believing he might yet find Legolas. But Erestor knew he would not. He had seen Rhawion's true death in Phellanthir, for Rhawion had been devoured by the Nazgul and was no longer anywhere at all.
Elrohir lurched to his feet, rocking unsteadily with Legolas in his arms. Gimli leapt to his side and steadied him, catching Elrohir before he fell and cradling them both more tenderly than Erestor could ever have imagined a Dwarf capable.
'Here, let's put that cloak of yours about him,' Gimli said quietly , and he pulled the thick sable from Elrohir and together they wrapped the cloak about Legolas' body, catching it as it flapped in the wind and swaddling it tightly as if the warmth might revive him. Erestor saw the Dwarf wipe a tear from his nose as he did. It was so with Narvi. Ah, Narvi. How Celebrimbor had grieved.
It seemed to Erestor that he was doomed to plunge into one grief after another and the whining wind seemed almost sympathetic to his mood as it wound itself about the chamber. Lifting the hair of one after another of the group, it whispered and murmured and moaned softly in their ears. Erestor's heart weighed heavily in his chest; disaster all round, he condemned himself as Elrohir stumbled towards the plinth and gently lay Legolas upon it, stroking his hair back and cupping his cold cheek.
The wind coiled about them all, bitter and hungry.
'But where is he, then?' Pippin was still asking. 'His fëa? We aren't just going to leave him down here!'
'Never!' Elrohir was still bending over Legolas, gazing at the still face. He pressed his lips against the cold ones of his beloved and again, smoothed his uninjured hand over Legolas' face. 'I will search for him,' he said. 'For all the days of my life if need be. I will search everywhere, just to hear his voice, to hear a single note of his Song. Just to… I will not rest nor leave here until I have found him.'
'Aye. And I'll be staying here with you until we do,' Gimli's deep voice joined his.
A sudden gust of wind seemed to snatch the words from the Dwarf's mouth. For a moment, Erestor felt as if he were swallowed by the dark and he reeled slightly and threw his hand out to catch himself against the rock wall, feeling the spirals beneath his fingertips.
'And me.' Pippin stood forward defiantly and alongside him the other Hobbits too. Aragorn had lifted his head now and was speaking, but Erestor was no longer listening; he stared at his hand. His fingertips tingled.
Spreading the fingers of his hand, he looked at the Ring that he had been given long, long ago by Celebrimbor. One of the many rings that had been made in Ost-in-Edhel and in Phellanthir. Not one of the Great Rings, but it had a power that was entirely suited to Erestor.
'This,' Celebrimbor had said putting the unobtrusive Ring in the palm of Erestor's hand, 'will help you to see.' And when Erestor put it up to his eye and peered through it, Celebrimbor had laughed. 'No,' he had said. 'To see.' He pushed it onto Erestor's finger. 'To see what is Unseen. And to hear what is Unheard.' He had laughed then. 'Otherwise how can you be any good as a spy?'
And of course the Sarmë Teúcaremmar Telperinquar, the red leather-bound book that Elrond had found in the Library of Minas Tirith at the very end of the War, and that Erestor had stolen, had explained much that Erestor had not known or previously understood.
He could hear the Hobbits arguing with Elladan, but the gold and bronze Ring crackled with energy. Erestor felt his hair stiff with static, like a lightning flashed overhead and as if he had suddenly awoken from a drugged and stupefied sleep. The Ring whirred and buzzed as it meshed with his own neurons until there was the familiar dislocation and then, everything altered.
For a moment he did not quite understand; it seemed like a grey sea billowed over the chamber and swilled about the walls, stealing ever upwards. Fog was lapping quietly at the brightness of his companions, a silent and unseen predator. And threading through the chamber was the wind, but now with the Ring, Erestor saw it for what is was: like a taloned beast of darkness, the wind ripped and tore at those with warm blood and flesh and nibbled endlessly at their spirits.
'Stop your ears! All of you. Do it now!' he cried loudly and saw how they turned puzzled, dull faces slowly towards him. 'Do it!' he commanded, filling his voice with power. 'The Úmaiar, the Barrow Wights are here!'
They had been there all the time! Invisibly stealing the breath from their bodies, the notes of their Song. And he, Närmófinion Fëanorian of the House of Maedhros, veteran of the Beleriand Wars, the Siege of Angmar and Last Alliance was a complete and utter dunce! He had let himself be lulled to sleep, to allow his senses to be dulled! Fool! He had known enough to be on his guard but instead of being alert to the sorcery of the Úmaiar he had allowed himself to be distracted.
He strode towards Elladan first, and grabbed his hands, shoved them over his ears. 'Stop your ears I tell you!' he commanded, holding Elladan's shocked grey gaze. Tearing himself away, he grasped first one and then another of the Hobbits, urging them to do the same. 'It is the Barrow Wights,' he insisted. 'They are here.' He knew that what he did now was not enough.
'Here?' Frodo asked, looking round. 'But where?'
'In the wind!' shouted Erestor urgently and bitter with his stupidity, he opened his hand and cast a net of alarca streaming into the air against the fog that was creeping upwards and lapped now about his own thighs, leaching the warmth from his body, and the thoughts from his mind.
'Héca!' he cried aloud, and the fog thickened suddenly about him. He cursed in frustration and tried to wade through the heavy grey weight that pressed against him. He twisted his hand and opened the Ring again so that silver alarca poured from the bronze-gold ring like a blade. The fog drew back swiftly like a wounded beast, and he lunged forwards. 'Héca!' he cried again. 'Húna mórë, saura huinë! Héca unqualë'
Suddenly the wind thrust him back, snatching the words from his mouth and hurling them into the dark mouth of the tunnels.
'Elladan!' he shouted again but now the wind raged about the chamber. It rattled the spears and swords, and the ivory bones of the horse with its ancient armour trembled as if it might spring into a charge. Erestor saw Pippin and Sam press Frodo back towards the wall and Aragorn leaned forwards, buffeted by the wind that tore at his hair and cloak.
A tide of shadows smashed against Elrohir where he pulled Legolas' body towards himself protectively, but Erestor could see how the shadows swarmed from the gaping mouth of the tunnel. Some flew at Elrohir, their claws outstretched but something flashed at his breast, deeper crimson, like fire, and shot through with sparks of green-gold like a shoal of tiny glittering fish. The shadows veered away from Elrohir then and instead flew at Elladan. In moments, his outline was blurred, and the blue of his spirit was leaking into the darkness.
'Elladan!' cried Erestor again and saw how the beloved face turned towards him in confusion, his long hair pulled back by the wind, and tugged by those ugly claws that ripped at his blue aura. It was that which gave Erestor the strength he needed, and he brought his hands together and summoned the silver alarca that streamed from his Ring. It vibrated between his hands, the Song building, chords sounding deeply through the chamber and reverberating high up into the domed roof. Silver threads of Song shot into the darkness, like lightning and the shadows recoiled, slithering back towards the tunnel.
Narrowing his eyes, Erestor hastily sang another ball of lightning into existence, but he saw that the shadows gathered in the mouth of the tunnel. They seemed almost to be watching him, but more warily.
'What is happening?'
'Frodo! Where are you?'
'Sam, I am here.'
Erestor heard the confusion and shouting amongst the Hobbits, but he had no time to answer them for suddenly, the shadows rippled like the wind moved through them or as if they murmured to each other. Then before he could cry a warning, the shadows streamed from the mouth of the tunnel.
They went again for Elladan in a storm of ragged wings and fanged teeth and claws, tearing at him, tugging at his hair and clothes and digging claws into his face and limbs, sharp fangs sank into his skin. Erestor began to run, the bright blade of alarca flashing in his hand. He was half aware of shouting and to his left, there was a blur of crimson, wrapped about with green-gold: Elrohir.
But suddenly, Elladan blazed blue and in his hand was a flame, red and black, a serpent with glittering eyes that flashed in the oncoming darkness.
'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?' The voice seemed to come from the red and black flame, but the voice echoed about the chamber, not reducing but amplifying.
Another flame nearby ignited, and a second voice rang out and joined the first; 'Who shall call them back to the grey twilight, those Kings of Old? Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?'
Suddenly the crimson beacon that was Elrohir moved, and Erestor saw that he was standing now and that he too had drawn one of the Mergyll-Dagnir. 'Not once shall he pass the
Door to the Dead, Alone shall he pass but not alone he will return.'
From the three blades now leapt red flame and Erestor saw his chance; he sent a blaze of alarca from his Ring, looping through and around the Mergyll-Dagnir and channelling the red flames into one heated blade of light. Hurling the bolt of red-silver into the shadows, he tore through them, another bolt already between his hands.
The clawed and fanged shadows turned and fled.
Silence fell. Utter darkness ebbed back.
But it was the darkness of deep underground, not the creeping shadows that would tear at their souls. And the silence was absolute but for the breathing of the Hobbits and Men.
Heart pounding in fear, not for himself but his dearest love, Erestor strode over to Elladan, without thought and pulled him round to face him. 'Are you harmed?' Breathing hard for fear of what he might see, empty dead eyes, a fëa devoured, he stared into the beautiful, surprised face.
'No. Are you?' Elladan's grey eyes were crystal clear, his face as anxious for Erestor as Erestor for him.
Erestor's ancient, blasphemous heart stumbled.
A mere word and I will fall into your arms, Erestor thought, I will sweep you out of here and lay you down in the heather and long grass and…
Elladan's head tilted slightly towards Erestor so that he saw the almost blue lights in the deep blackness of his hair. He felt the warmth of Elladan against his skin and breathed in; scent of Elladan's sweat, leather and metal, like lightning had passed, and that indefinable sense of peace that Erestor always felt in his presence, no matter the danger or peril.
Erestor stopped himself.
Fool.
Old fool. Kinslayer. Guilty and bloodstained and proud.
'Erestor.' Elladan's voice pulled on him like the needle of a compass. He could not help it. Close enough that he could feel Elladan's breath on his cheek, he almost leaned in.
But no. He held himself back and stared into Elladan's smiling, grey eyes that were like the sea. A hand cupped Erestor's unworthy cheek, stroked his blasphemous lips and he closed his heretical eyes for he had seen too much.
Then, clasping the hand that caressed him, Erestor gently pulled away.
Someone had struck a light: Gimli, for the light flared suddenly over his craggy face and he lit a taper and stuck it into his tinderbox and then, one by one, he began to light the rushlights that had been doused by the wind.
'Has it gone?'
Everyone turned towards Sam, who stood protectively before Frodo, in his hand was a sword plundered from the armoury of the Last Prince. Beside him, Merry and Pippin were staring around the chamber, bewildered. Baranor stood before them, a sword unsheathed in his hand. Elrohir huddled over Legolas' body as if he had not moved, as if he did not care for anything but Legolas.
'I think so,' said Frodo as he turned towards Aragorn solicitously. Fresh blood soaked the Man's tunic. Frowning, Erestor followed Elladan who exclaimed and hurried to his foster brother side in concern.
Gimli lit the last rushlight and Erestor sighed, watching Elladan as he peered at Aragorn's wound and took a cloth proffered by one of the hobbits to clean the blood. 'Let me see,' Elladan was saying to Aragorn. and Aragorn moved the torn and blood-soaked tunic aside to reveal a wicked looking cut, blood crusting over it now. Leaning over it, Elladan touched the wound lightly and when Aragorn winced, he glanced up in concern.
'Is this from the wound Legolas gave you?' Elladan asked, 'Or has it just happened?'
'Whatever that was has opened it up again. It had begun to clot anyway,' Aragorn said but he glanced anxiously into the dark tunnel and Erestor followed his gaze for he too did not believe the Barrow Wights were finished with them.
'You just stay there now, Strider,' Sam told the King for Pippin was busying himself with emptying what was left of his water skin onto a wad of cloth that seemed to have been spirited up from somewhere. It might have been a handkerchief. He passed it to Sam who gently cleaned the wound. 'There's an awful lot of blood here.'
'Keep the pressure on the wound,' Elladan instructed Sam, with a glance towards Elrohir as if to ask his help, but he closed his mouth again before the words left him.
For Elrohir had laid Legolas' cold body upon the plinth again and was stroking his long hair back from his cold face, utterly absorbed, lost in grief.
Erestor was about to look away, but something snared his gaze. There was a jewel at Elrohir's breast that was as familiar to him as his own hand. But there was more; a thinning ribbon of green-gold floated like riverweed in the golden light from the rushlights and curled around Elrohir as if for warmth and safety. Fragile and fraying it was and translucently thin, almost not there.
Legolas? thought Erestor, suddenly excited. Is he still here after all our fears?
Perhaps.
Hardly daring to think it, Erestor tilted his head and stroked his thumb over the cool metal of the Ring. He felt the tremor of the alarca initiating once more and the Ring suddenly opened. He could see clearly now the glimmering trails of the green-gold threads like a skein of silk winding away into the darkness, fragile, vulnerable. Towards the centre of the barrow, Erestor thought. Where the Úmaiar that had just attacked them, it lurked.
He whirled round. There was little time. ''Gimli Gloinsson, Elladan, with me. You,' he pointed at Baranor, 'You will remain and protect the King. You are staying here,' he said very firmly to Aragorn. To the Hobbits he said, 'You are also the King's guard and will stay, and you,' he clasped Elrohir's shoulder, 'You too are staying here,' he said before Elrohir could protest.
'Do you not understand?' Elrohir looked up angrily, but Erestor knew it was his fear that spoke. 'Legolas is lost! He is somewhere in this barrow, alone, and the Barrow Wights are down here somewhere!'
Erestor pushed him down firmly. 'You need to call Legolas back, bring him to his hröa and help him back. Only you can do this.'
'You mock me!' Elrohir cried in anguish, but Erestor leaned over him and gripped his hand.
'Trust me now, child. Do you not believe that I only ever take your part in all things?' He gazed into Elrohir's eyes, so unlike Elladan's that Erestor wondered how ever anyone mistook them. 'Look again,' he said softly. He lifted his hand and opened it towards the faint ribbon of light that curled about Elrohir, pressed against his cheek. 'Look how the faintest trace of him lingers where you are,' he said softly, willing Elrohir to see, to believe him. 'You might yet bring him home.'
Elrohir twisted to look about him searching but Erestor knew it was too faint and he caught Elrohir's hand in his and cupped it in his own so the Ring might amplify Elrohir's sight. 'See!' he insisted and watched Elrohir's astonishment as he looked about, turn to desperate, yearning hope.
'I do see. I see him now. Ah Eru!' Any other words he spoke were lost in the rush as he stumbled to his feet and had Erestor not had the Ring, Elrohir would have seemed to be maddened in his grief for he clutched at nothing. But Erestor could see his hand gently touch the faint, trembling ribbons of light that wound about him, pressed close to his warmth and love.
'He is still here,' Elrohir replied wondering and tearful. 'Just. He is just here.' He turned to Gimli as if showing him.
Gimli reached forward and although he could not see the nyrdh-fëa he seemed to sense it and the shimmering ribbon pushed itself against him like a cat. The Dwarf did not know the light that shone upon his face as he looked up at Elrohir. 'I know he is here. I can hear the Mahalzúk.' The Dwarf's voice cracked a little and he held up one hand as if he knew the nyrdh-fëa wrapped about him.
But it was so faint. The fading ribbons of light seemed at their last gasp and Erestor was suddenly very afraid.
Aragorn was staggering to his feet and opened his mouth to speak but Erestor held up his hand firmly. 'No,' he said firmly. 'You will just get in my way. Do as you are told and give me a chance to make this right.' He glanced now at Baranor with a curious eye, half a suspicion forming. 'You stay here too. I'll need you later.'
Gimli hefted his axe, ready and impatient to leave when he nodded towards an unassuming leather satchel that had been dropped beside Aragorn. 'What about that? That Askar-atar-axo.' He said it like he was breaking rocks, but Erestor gave a wicked smile.
'Ah. Just what we need.' He hooked the strap over his long fingers and instantly felt the surge of power. The Palantir of Amon Sûl: Pippin had told him that Aragorn had this when he first came upon them and had been busily lobbing bombs at the Orcs, but he had been distracted by the news that Vanwë was here.
'That is the King's,' said Baranor defiantly.
Erestor gave a long-toothed smile and narrowed his amber eyes. 'Is it now,' he asked very softly.
'It is.' Baranor took a step forward as if he might actually dare to challenge Erestor.
Erestor smiled more widely, enjoying the Man's courage, his temerity. 'Well then.' He looked towards Aragorn with one eyebrow lifted enquiringly. 'I had better ask his Majesty what he will do if I take it anyway?' Not waiting for an answer, Erestor flipped open the satchel and plunged his hand into the pocket.
There was a flash and surge of heat, his fingers sank into the surface.
I am Ascarataxo. I am heat and fire. I am the Undoer. Unmaker. Wield me.
He withdrew at once, shocked and elated at the same time. His Ring buzzed excitedly and connected numbers and letters in a long stream of an equation that Erestor read and understood with blinding clarity and excitement. He stared at Aragorn.
'You know what this is?' he demanded.
'Yes, yes,' one of the Hobbits suddenly interrupted. Samwise Gamgee. 'We know it's the Palantír of Amon Sûl and we know it is a weapon. Vanwë told us to use it but quite frankly, I don't think, begging your pardon, Strider, but I don't think we know how, and if you do, Mister Erestor, then perhaps you will. Go and get Legolas, please. Bring him back to us safely if you can.' His forwardness was a little uncharacteristic, thought Erestor, and he cocked his head.
Sam blushed under his scrutiny and then Frodo Baggins said more gently, 'Sam has to be home soon.' He smiled. 'He is to marry Rosie Cotton, the thought of whom sustained him through all our long journey through Mordor.'
What could Erestor say to that? He saw a flush of sweetness in Frodo's wan face, his eyes that seemed to have become bigger, more lost perhaps, and he saw too that this spirit that had braved Mordor and destroyed what could have destroyed them all, was depleted and diminished.
'Rosie will understand,' Sam said quickly, reassuringly. 'She would want us to find Legolas.'
'As do we all,' said Frodo softly.
'What are we waiting for?' demanded Gimli for he was already standing at the mouth of the tunnel and waiting impatiently.
'Indeed,' Erestor agreed and strode towards him, shifting the leather satchel over his lean hip.
A sudden blaze of Song, azure blue and steel. It struck him to the core.
Maglor.
And then a roar and the clash of weapons; the sound of rage.
Erestor did not wait. He plunged into darkness, but his Ring showed him the way, throwing out silver threads of light to map the path. He ran, careless of his own skin and the Palantir of Amon Sul, believed lost forever in the Ice Bay of Forochel banging against his thigh as he ran The sound of battle reached them and he ran faster, his feet flying over the rocky cavern floor. For Maglor was there. And Legolas Thranduillion. Both were in great peril, and he did not care at all for himself as he ran into the gaping mouth of the tunnel that led deeper into the darkness, into the Iaun-Gynd.
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